Centenary
by silverosprey98
Summary: 'Is cuimhin linn.' 'We remember'. He sneered. Did they really? Did they really remember the pain, the loss of innocent life, those men, women and children caught in the crossfire, those fighting in another country for freedom?


He could feel it. Even as he sat there, half listening to the usual argument and drivel between the other nations. He could have joined in, like he usually did, but he couldn't. Not now, not today. Why the meeting had to have been scheduled today, and here of all places he didn't know. It might have been Éire's fault for mixing up the dates, but, in reality he knew he couldn't blame him. It was a trying year for the both of them.

He sighed, eyes looking blankly out the rain spattered window taking in the banners, the displays and the _people._ Every Irish person seemed to be there today. There to celebrate a failed uprising which only resulted in more bloodshed and violence. Éire hadn't bothered to show up for the meeting, no doubt the memories were too strong, the betrayal too deep. He had lost so many, both at home, and abroad.

'Is cuimhin linn.' 'We remember'. He sneered. Did they really? Did they really remember the pain, the loss of innocent life, those men, women and children caught in the crossfire, those fighting in another country for freedom? Even now it brings back a dull ache in his heart as he remembers those soldiers who had died needlessly because some desired independence _now_. He had been stretched so thinly as he attempted to keep the peace at home, fight for his people and then try to stop the conflicts happening in Ireland before things went too far.

Home Rule was there. It had been achieved. If not for the outbreak of the war in 1914, they would have had it. Some had volunteered to fight for him, spurred on by the speech Redmond gave at Woodenbridge. On their return however, they were shunned. They had fought on the wrong side in the wrong war.

"Britain? Are you okay dude?" America's voice brings him out of his trance. Looking up he realises the room has gone silent. Only then does he register the wetness on his cheeks as the tears continue to fall silently from his eyes. The only indication of his inner pain.

"I'm fine America." He replies and forces a smile onto his face. "Just remembering, that's all."

He doesn't look convinced, but lets it go and returns to his conversation with Canada. He is now all too aware of the glances aimed towards him. As the hum of conversation starts up again, he tries to resist the pull. But he can't. The pull is relentless, and once more, he is immersed in his memories. A knock on the door saves him. As it opens, a black head of hair, followed by a sheepish face peeks round the door to look at the assembled nations.

"Sorry for being late" she says. She has a curious accent. Not quite Irish, but at the same time, he picks up British undertones in some of the words. "I was caught up in the traffic when I was leaving uni which slowed the bus down quite a bit."

They all stare at her. This was Éire's representative?! A college student! Not even France was tempted to begin his routine when faced with a pretty girl. America was the first to break out of his stunned silence.

"Who are you?"

She smiles. "Alexandria Fay" she replies, "I'm Ireland's representative for today. He says that he's sorry that he couldn't make it."

She sits in the only available chair left. Next to Britain. She introduces herself quietly and he does the same, before turning to focus on the meeting.

"Germany" he hears Italy say quietly, "What's going on down there?"

"I don't know" he replies, but he and many of the other nations look curious to find out. He dreads to see their reactions when they do find out. No doubt they will go out for their lunch and on the way will surely discover what happened that day.

"It's the centenary celebration of the 1916 rising." The room falls silent. He turns to the girl sitting beside him and raises a curious eyebrow.

"I would have thought that you would be celebrating as well, not be attending this meeting with the rest of us."

She frowns. "While I acknowledge that some wish to and are celebrating the Rising, I personally don't see the need to. After all, at the same time, there were other conflicts happening not just this one."

"But you're Irish aren't you?" he hears someone – Spain – say.

"I'm an Irish citizen, yes. However my nationality is Anglo-Irish." That one simple statement floors him. Floors them all. They stare at her, the words turning over in their minds. Not only did Éire choose a college student to represent him today, but she is half English as well!

"Why?" he asks. "Why did my brother choose you?"

She shrugs her shoulders "I honestly don't know."

He is pulled in again as the silence closes in. There is no escape from the tide of memories. The sound of gunfire, the proclamation of an Irish republic, a whispered prayer as they rush out into no man's land, yelled orders in two languages on the muddy battlefield, in the busy city centre. It was like losing America all over again. Now, instead of losing his little brother, he lost his favourite big brother, just like he lost the others and was left alone again. The sun is shining. It shouldn't be. Not with all of the pain this day caused 100 years ago.

Time passes quickly and lunch break arrives. He declines the invitations to accompany them, not willing to see the faces of disgust as they see, and hear about what happened. He doesn't miss the concerned looks aimed at him but doesn't acknowledge them either. It is only when the room has fallen silent that he realises he is not alone.

"Why did you stay?" He is curious to know, but also glad of the company. Maybe it will prevent the pain from returning.

"You looked lonely." She replies. "Sad too." She rummages around in her bag and pulls out a lunch. "Besides, I already have lunch so there's no real point in going out to buy another."

They sit quietly in companionable silence, eating, each lost in their own thoughts until the ringing of a phone brings them back to reality. She checks the caller I.D. before answering, a small smile tugging at her lips.

"Hi Alan. How are you?" As they exchange their pleasantries, his attention is brought to her laptop screen which she had been using to take notes for Éire. There were two windows open, one filled with the notes from the meeting, the other with notes from what he assumed to be a lecture. One about the Act of Union. That had been an interesting time.

"I've told you all of this before Alan!" her annoyed voice attracts his attention and he looks over to see her pacing.

"The Act of Union in 1801 was put into action through a combination of America gaining independence, the 1798 rebellion and Britain's desire not to lose Ireland!"

He blinked. Well. She certainly knew her history, especially in that regard. He could faintly hear the caller ask her a question.

"You may be a volunteer for the celebrations Alan, but that doesn't mean that you can slack off on actually learning the material you're supposed to be talking about! It also doesn't give you a get out of jail free card in ringing me for information because you can't."

He hears another question, and she sighs angrily.

"Just because my dad is English and knows some areas of this history doesn't mean he knows everything. Besides, it's not compulsory to attend the celebrations and we don't see the need to. Besides, had the British not executed the ringleaders, the whole thing would have died down and been forgotten. It was the executions that made the ordinary people take note of the situation and make them into martyrs. They were seen as troublemakers. Both parties were at fault."

She hung up and looked over to him.

"Sorry about that."

He shakes his head. Her side of the argument had made him think. Yes he was a nation, so too was Éire, but it wasn't their fault that their people acted in that way. Besides, the both of them were focussing on their people fighting abroad.

"Thank you." He says. She tilts her head questioningly. "This year is hard on Éire and myself. The lives lost, the conflicts afterwards, it's painful to remember, even now. But your look on the situation made me remember that although we are the countries, we cannot be held accountable for all that our people do. It makes the memories easier to deal with. Thank you for making me realise that."

"Not a problem." She smiles. "You don't look as sad anymore, so I'm putting that down as a win."

He is grateful to her for making him see the other aspects of the problem. It is still painful to remember, but, now, the ache has dulled, become bearable. He can remember 1916, but now, he can also look forward to see what the rest of 2016 brings. As the others return, he smiles. There is hope after all.

* * *

 **This story idea hit me in the middle of writing a history essay on Britain and Ireland's relationship during British occupation. I hope you like it! Please let me know what you think!**


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